Masked Memories
by Availre
Summary: Christine Daae moved to Seattle to pursue her music career. Little does she know that a long lost friend owns the biggest recording conglomerate in the country, stationed in Seattle. But what happens when Christine is caught in the web of an old feud between two of her oldest friends? Currently on hiatus.
1. A Night to Remember

**So, this will be my first modern fic, and I hope I do all right. :) Please review, etc. and enjoy the story. That's the main thing. So, without further adieu, chapter one of "Masked Memories."**

***This Chapter has been updated***

Christine Daaé smiled to a passerby as they dropped a single dollar bill into her guitar case without even pausing to stop. It would have been nice, she thought, if someone would actually listen to her music instead of just dropping her a dollar here or there because they pitied her. No, she didn't expect them to stop and listen to her whole set, but just to give her a minute out of their busy schedule would have been nice.

She had moved to Seattle to try and make a life for herself doing what she loved best-music. She had known from the start that it wouldn't be easy pursuing singing, but she also knew that she had an extremely versatile voice; she could sing virtually any genre she was asked to. Her lyric soprano voice was easily recognizable, and it was unique. And yet she had still been turned away from so many record companies because she "wasn't driven enough."

Honestly, though, she had come here because she hoped against hope that she would be signed on with the biggest music conglomerate in the country, "Mask Records," because they were based here in Seattle. She had heard that the owner, founder, and CEO of the company was a ruthless, business driven man, and that he only signed on the most talented of his auditioners, which is what made him so successful in the first place. His company had probably sold billions of albums, all because he only chose a select few who were very, very good.

Because Christine hadn't gotten her 'big break' yet, she was working three jobs to support herself. She was a waitress at a local café Monday through Friday, from eight in the morning until 4:30 in the afternoon, and she sang in bars and clubs on any nights she could get a gig, and then on the weekends she trudged herself and her guitar down to the Pike's Place market and played anything she could. Then, when her hour in that spot was through, she'd pack up and move to a different spot. Sometimes she would partner with other local artists, and then split the money 50/50.

Most frequently, Christine found herself working with a young blond girl, Meg, who danced. They would move to a wide part of the sidewalk, or an empty street, and Christine would sing, and Meg would dance. They were becoming more and more popular, too, and a small crowd would gather to listen and watch the performance sometimes.

Their most profitable day was Saturday, in the early afternoon. But Meg wasn't here this weekend. She had gone to visit her mother, who had been a dancer as well, and wouldn't be back until midweek. So Christine had to make do by herself this weekend, and that's how she found herself parked in front of a pig statue playing one of her favorite songs, "A Thousand Years," by Christina Perri.

That was her last song of the day, at which she earned another five dollars, and then she packed everything up and made the trek back to her small apartment. She had a gig to sing at tonight, and it was one of the few that would actually pay her well. Of course, the songs that had been selected for her to perform were more difficult, as they were mostly classical, as well as one or two classier Broadway songs.

It was a charity ball of some sort, that much Christine knew. She had even had to go out and buy herself a new dress to perform in, because this was mostly extremely wealthy people that would be there, and none of her clothes were 'high end' enough.

Christine sighed, putting the guitar down just outside her door so she could unlock it. Swinging the door open, she looked around her small, neat apartment and put the guitar and its case just inside the door before shutting it behind her with her foot.

"I need food," she muttered to herself, kicking off her converse and heading into the kitchen and peering into her fridge. "Hmm... What do I want? Chicken? No. Spam? Blech. Definitely not. I don't even know why Meg gave that to me," she laughed, looking for a few more moments before deciding on PB&J.

Sitting down on the couch with her oozing sandwich, Christine studied a black and white picture on the end table of a man and a woman who were clearly in love with each other. They had been her parents, but Christine barely remembered either of them. They had both died in a car accident on the way home from their date night when she was four. Christine had been at home with the babysitter.

Christine remembered reading the newspaper article about it when she was thirteen and in foster care, as she hadn't had any relatives, "Husband and Wife Killed in Car Crash After Car Explodes." Apparently it had been extremely foggy that night, and her father missed a sharp bend in the road and hit a tree. The engine had exploded, killing both of them instantly.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Christine went into her room to lay out her dress for the evening across her neatly made bed before hopping into the shower and doing her hair into a low chignon bun. She kept her makeup light; just some mascara, blush, and some neutrally toned eye-shadow.

Slipping the dress on, Christine checked her reflection in the mirror, fidgeting with a few things on her outfit. The dress was a soft gold color, and had a high-low hemline, the highest point coming just below her knees, and the lowest point hitting her at the middle of her Achilles-heel. It had an empire waist, and just skimmed over her figure. It had a more modest neckline for two reasons, the first being that Christine was a naturally modest girl. The second reason was that she didn't have a very petite bust, either, so she didn't have to show as much.

Christine slipped on a pair of nude heels while glancing at the clock. "Crap, I'm already running late," she muttered, grabbing a champagne colored clutch and rushing out the door. To her good fortune, there was an empty cab already outside, and she hailed it and got in.

"321 Mercer Street, please," Christine told the driver breathily.

"I'm sorry, miss, but I believe that this is my cab," an amused voice said. Christine practically let out a yelp.

"I'm so sorry," she began, but the man stopped her with a wave of his hand. He looked to be about twenty-six, so two years older than she was, with soft brown eyes and auburn hair. He seemed strangely familiar.

"It's all right," he said with a friendly smile, "Since we appear to be headed to the same place, anyway." Christine blushed. "So, who are you representing tonight at this event?" he asked. _He thinks I'm one of the guests,_ Christine realized.

"Oh, no one. I'm just a performer," Christine said with a modest shrug as the cab cruised down the street, stopping for the occasional red light.

"Well, you certainly look as if you're a patron," he said with a charming look. "I'm Raoul, by the way, Raoul de Changy."

_Aha! So that's where I know him from! _Christine thought. After her parents had died, and she had been put into foster care, she was with a wealthy family when she was thirteen, the de Chagnys. She had befriended the younger brother, Raoul, and they had been sweet on each other, as it were. Of course he wouldn't remember her, she was only there for eight months.

"I'm Christine, Christine D-" she began before he interrupted her again.

"Christine Daaé?" He said with bewilderment. She nodded, suddenly shy. "What a happy coincidence! Do you remember me?" he asked with a laugh.

"Yes, Raoul, I remember you." Christine couldn't help but laugh. She was just happy he remembered her. Looking at him, she realized he had grown into quite the man. He was well built, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. He was probably about 6 feet tall. His hair, though, was still as unruly as it always was, with curls springing up everywhere, and the two especially right at his temples. She had the sudden urge to run her fingers through it.

"So what time do you perform?" he asked jovially, turning those perfect, sparkling eyes on her.

"I'm not on until seven, but I should be there by six so I have time to look over the equipment, acoustics of the room and the sheet music," she explained with a gentle smile curving her lips upward. "I've never performed here before. Hopefully I'll perform well enough to be asked back."

"I didn't realize that you sang, Lottie," Raoul said, raising his eyebrows. "You never really mentioned it when you stayed with us."

"I didn't really develop a real love and appreciation for it until my next home," Christine explained, even as they pulled up to the Seattle Center. "It was nice seeing you again, Raoul," she said, getting out of the cab and paying the driver before going into the large building through a back entrance that was specifically for performers.

Once inside, Christine checked her appearance for the last time before heading out to the stage area and looking at the layout of the room and checking to make sure that her microphone was working properly and checking to make sure she had all of her sheet music with her, along with the cheat-sheet for pronunciation for the songs that were in a foreign language.

Satisfied that everything was ready, Christine headed backstage and waited for seven o' clock to roll around. She didn't dare to sit down, because she was afraid that her dress might wrinkle, or get caught in her panties and that she would embarrass herself before she even actually performed.

Christine caught herself before she let her thoughts wander too far down that path, and she took a deep breath and imagined that she was sinking into the ground to calm herself. That was the only trick that she had tried that would actually keep her calm. She had learned that from a rather bad foster home that she had been in- the one just after the de Changy's, in fact. The family was obviously taking in foster children for the money they received for it, and didn't really care what became of the children under their care. They had one child of their own, and he was the one who had led her into the wonderful escape and worlds that music could lead you into. He had become her mentor, and her closest friend. She was fourteen, and he was almost eighteen. Obviously a smart young man, he had already been in his sophomore year in college. But as soon as he turned eighteen, his parents had thrust him out into the world on his own.

She had never seen him again, but he had promised that he would find her someday, and she had believed him. For some reason, she still did, though why was beyond her. It was clear that he wasn't going to find her, because it had been ten years, and she hadn't received so much as a letter.

What she remembered most about him, though, was his voice. She remembered walking through the broken down door for the first time with her duffle bag and hearing him singing. She had followed it to the back of the house and had pushed open the door and found him bent over a piece of paper scribbling something on it.

"What're you doing?" she had asked, the confusion clear in her voice.

He had turned to face her, a gentle smile on his face. "You must be Christine," he said, welcoming her. "I'm composing. Would you like to see?"

He had been so patient with her, and dealing with her ignorance. "Yes, please," she had said, walking up and peering over his shoulder.

She remembered, too, that he had one blue eye and one grey eye. She found it fascinating. He was handsome, too, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones and a long, firm face. He wasn't built like Raoul, either. He was narrow, and all of his limbs were long. He was proud and graceful in his movements, like a tiger or large domestic cat.

"Miss Daaé, you're on in five minutes," a server came and placed a hand on Christine's shoulder, bringing her out of her reverie.

"Thank you," Christine said politely, heading closer to the stage. She could see that the string quartet that was to accompany her was already on stage, going through a simple, elegant introductory piece.

When that number was done, Christine walked with confidence onto the stage after she had been properly introduced and sang her first set. Throughout the performance, though, she was scanning the crowd, as she was wont to do, and made eye contact with Raoul several times, and he gave her an encouraging, gallant smile each time.

Christine couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched very closely by one person in the crowd, and that was the main reason she was watching the patrons mingle so closely. At the crescendo of the last song in her first set, she found out who had been watching her.

It was a man with a white porcelain mask covering three-quarters of his face, only his mouth and his left cheek were exposed. His gaze unnerved her and she wondered at it for a moment as the song ended. She thanked the audience and told them she would be back at eight-thirty before exiting the stage as gracefully as she could.

Christine had been told beforehand that she was allowed to mingle with the guests between her sets, so that she might entice some of them to give more than they might have otherwise. She wasn't sure that she wanted to go down there and quite possibly face that masked man's gaze- or even his conversation. But she knew she had better, if she wanted to even have a hope of performing here again. Besides, Raoul would probably approach her, and she would be able to take her mind off of it.

So she made her way through the crowd, receiving many rounds of 'you performed wonderfully,' and 'excellent job.' She finally found Raoul, and they were enjoying a pleasant conversation, reminiscing about old adventures, when _he _walked up oh-so-casually.

"May I take the young lady from your presence for a moment, Mr. Chagny?" he said, his voice incredibly smooth and polite, though it was ice cold and left no room for argument.

Raoul nodded. "I'll be back in just a few minutes with some drinks, Lotte," he said, leaving them.

"So, you are Ms. Daaé, correct?" he asked, giving her a calculating look. Christine felt as if she were a horse at an auction, and he was a potential buyer. That thought unnerved her even more than she already was.

"Yes, I am," she said with a smooth dip of her head. "How may I help you?"

"Would you be interested in taking vocal lessons, Miss Daaé?" he asked, looking at her sharply. His height only made him look more imposing than he already was. His black attire and thin, long body made him look incredibly aloof and proud. Even in her four inch high heels, Christine only came to five feet, eight inches. This man looked to be almost six foot three or perhaps even a little taller. He was certainly taller than Raoul.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I really cannot afford it," she said apologetically, though, in fact, she was relieved that she had an excuse to say no.

"As you can see by my presence here, money is no object for me. I merely wish to know if you would like to be taught and improve your vocal capabilities," he said flatly. It was obvious that his temper was running short already.

"I suppose so. There's always room for improvement, right?" Christine said, smiling nervously.

"Excellent," the man said, pulling out a small piece of paper and quickly scribbling an address and time on it. "Be there at ten a.m. tomorrow, Ms. Daaé," he said coldly, handing her the scrap of parchment and walking away.

"What was that about?" Raoul asked, coming up behind her with a pair of drinks. Christine quickly folded the paper and tucked it inside her dress.

"Nothing," she said quickly. "He just wanted to tell me I did a good job," she covered smoothly. Why was she lying? It wasn't like there was an adequate reason to, and yet she was.

"Him? Not likely. I've never seen, or even heard of him complimenting anyone," Raoul snorted, handing her a water.

"Why is it so shocking? I was just up there, and I did an all right job," Christine said, defending her farce with something close to annoyance.

"Because that's Erik Destler, the owner of 'Mask Records,'" Raoul said, the derision clear in his voice. "He isn't the cheeriest fellow on planet Earth."

"H-he's the owner of 'Mask?'" Christine said with shock.

"That's what I said, wasn't it?" Raoul laughed. "But if he complimented you, then you must've done a really good job, Lottie. I don't know anything about music, but I know he's probably given out a total of two, well, now three, compliments in his professional life."

When Christine got home that night, her high heels instantly found their way to the same spot as her converse had earlier, and she pulled out the piece of paper and looked at it closely. The script was compact and flowing at the same time. Clearly legible, even though she had seen him scribble it out as if he were in some sort of frenzy. So, tomorrow at ten a.m. Christine was going to 354 Locke Drive to have a voice lesson from the owner of 'Mask Records'... who also happened to scare the bejeebees out of her.

**That's the first chapter! If you liked it, please review, because, like I said earlier, this is my first modern/AU fic, and I want to make sure I'm doing stuff right, haha. Also, 354 Locke Drive is a completely fictitious address, and if it bears any similarity to a real one, it's simply coincidence. However, the 321 address is real, and it happens to be for McCaw Hall, Seattle's Opera House.**

** Also, I don't own POTO or anything. If I did, I would be incredibly happy, and have a lot more money than I do now! XD But who knows. It could happen.**


	2. Erik's Eyes

**Thank you guys so much for the reviews! And special thanks to LadyAutreVita for her Seattle expertise!**

Christine had a terrible time trying to sleep that night, and even when she did finally get to sleep, her dreams were tainted and mingling with memories. All she could see were blue and grey eyes, hidden behind a white porcelain mask. No, she hadn't actually seen Mr. Destler's eyes, but it just seemed to fit somehow. She seriously doubted it, but what if Erik Destler was the same young man who had taught her to love music all those years ago? No, it couldn't be. Erik Destler was much too bitter and world weary.

Was it possible, in her year and a half of living in that foster home, that she had never caught _his_ name? Surely she would have heard it at least once, but if she had, she couldn't recall. His parents had always called him 'boy,' and she had, quite as a joke (but more seriously later on), called him 'Maestro,' because he was, to her. He was the _ultimate _teacher. She wondered briefly, putting her hair back in a ponytail, if Mr. Destler would come anywhere near Maestro's tutelage. She didn't think he would, but maybe her expectations were just too high.

Christine peered into her closet, biting her lower lip softly. She wasn't sure what to wear for this lesson. Shoot, she wasn't even sure where the building was at! That was just a chance she would have to take, if she came under or over dressed, oh well, she decided with a small shrug. Pulling out a pair of dark-dyed skinny jeans and a black, chunky knit sweater, she slipped out of her pajama bottoms and loose t-shirt before dressing quickly.

She selected a pair of red flats, being unsure about how Mr. Destler felt about singing in shoes that had a heel. Christine had previously been told that it didn't matter, so long as you could walk without wobbling and it didn't affect your breath support. _Better safe than sorry,_ she thought, grabbing a bagel and her big slouchy purse before heading out the door.

Glancing up at the sky, Christine groaned. It looked like it was going to rain today, and she had left her jacket in the apartment. She managed to hail a taxi just as it started to drizzle. Climbing in, she buckled her seatbelt.

"354 Locke Drive, please," she said, wiping a stray piece of hair out of her face.

"You sure that's the right address, miss?" the driver asked skeptically, looking at her in the rearview mirror with raised eyebrows.

"Um, yeah," Christine said, glancing at the paper one last time to make sure. "It's right." The driver just shook his head and pulled out onto the street, muttering under his breath unintelligibly.

Christine's cell buzzed and she looked at the screen. It was Raoul. She had given him her number last night upon his request, and they were going to have dinner to catch up on Friday. "Hey, Raoul," she said, flipping the phone open. "What's up?"

"Hey, Lottie," Raoul said from the other end. "I was just wondering if maybe you wanted to get some coffee this morning?" She could hear the hope in his voice, as well as excitement.

"Sorry, Raoul," Christine said sincerely. "I've already got plans for this morning. But I _will_ see you on Friday," she promised. There was a disappointed sigh on the other end of the phone, and Christine rolled her eyes playfully. Raoul always had over exaggerated things.

"All right, I'll call you Tuesday evening, then," he said, quickly bouncing back from his earlier disappointment.

"Sounds good," Christine said with a smile. She looked out the window as the cab pulled to a stop and the driver turned around to look at her. "Oh, my... Raoul, I've got to go," she said hurriedly, snapping the phone shut.

"Thank you," she told the driver, paying him his fare and stepping out of the cab.

It was raining hard by then, but that didn't lessen the astonishment that Christine felt at seeing the large house-well, if she was honest with herself, it was more of a mansion than a house. it was in the colonial fashion, with tall white pillars that held up the balcony of the send level. It had to be at least 6,000 square feet, if not larger. There were small, well pruned rosebushes that lined the cobblestone walkway leading up to the house.

Christine didn't have much time to gape, though, as she was getting drenched, and it was very nearly ten o' clock. She scurried up the house and rang the bell. It sounded like a huge Chinese gong was going off in the house or something.

The door opened, and a balding, middle aged man peered at her. He was dressed in a smart tuxedo, and Christine presumed he was the butler. "Ah, Ms. Daaé, Mr. Destler is expecting you. May I show you the way to the music room?" he queried politely.

"Yes, please," Christine said with a shaky smile. The man nodded sharply and opened the door more widely so she could come in before shutting it skillfully behind her and leading her down a long hallway.

The entire house was a crème color, from the walls, to the furniture, to the curtains. It didn't seem very homey to Christine, but she supposed that Mr. Destler had a interior decorator design the entire house for him. She had heard that he made 56 million dollars a year or something ridiculous like that. Christine could have sworn that she saw a Da Vinci painting hanging on a wall, but she was swept in the music room before she could be sure.

"Miss Daaé, you are very nearly late," Mr. Destler said, swinging around to face her from the piano bench he was sitting on.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Destler. I guess time just got away from me," Christine said nervously. This was _not _how she had hoped this lesson would start off. "It won't happen again," she promised.

"I'm sure that it won't," her teacher said, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. "Now, have you had any previous experience in vocal coaching?"

"Well, I don't know if you could call it formal coaching, but I was taught for a little while when I was younger," she said timidly. The only time that she had really been taught was when she had been with Maestro. Other than that, she had molded her voice until she had been satisfied with the product in each and every sound that she wanted to produce.

"And who was your teacher?" he asked, gesturing for her to come closer to the piano. As she did so, he spoke again. "Thank you, Bernard, you may leave," he told the butler, who was still standing dutifully in the doorway.

"Sir," Bernard said, dipping his head before turning on his heel and promptly exiting the room. Erik turned his attention to her, and although she couldn't' see the majority of his face, she got the impression that he was impatient for her answer.

"I don't know his name, sir," she stammered, blushing a bright red.

"How could you not know his name?" Erik demanded, jaw clenching slightly.

"He was the son of one of the families whose foster home I was living in at the time. I never knew his name, sir. I only ever called him Maestro," Christine explained, feeling rather silly saying that in this imposing man's presence. She could have sworn she saw him stiffen, and an unnamed emotion flash in his... blue and grey eyes? No, no it couldn't be. She was seeing things.

"I see, so you have no professional vocal training whatsoever," Destler huffed. "So, we'll start from the beginning and see where we go with this."

"All right," Christine said, peering curiously at the sheet music that was sitting on the piano. "Did you write this?" she asked, reaching out to pick it up, but Erik snatched it away and put it in a folder before she could so much as brush the paper with her fingers.

"Yes, but it's much too difficult for you to sing right now. Adjust your posture and we'll begin with scales to test your range." he said, turning back to the piano and setting his fingers on the keys. They fit perfectly, as if they truly belonged there, and not on his hands.

"What's wrong with my posture?" Christine said, completely bewildered. She always stood like this when she sang. She had so many other professional singers stand like this, she assumed it was correct.

"Everything," Erik snapped. "Your hips aren't far enough back. Your ears, shoulders, hips and ankles should all form a relatively straight line," he said, adjusting her posture by moving her around as if she were a doll. It was slightly uncomfortable, but she could already feel an improvement in her airflow.

"It will become more comfortable the more you stand correctly," he said, as if reading her thoughts. "Shall we begin?" he asked brusquely, not even pausing before starting the chord that led to the scales. Christine had only made it halfway through the first exercise before Erik stopped her again.

"You need to connect it, Christine," he said energetically. "Sing from your heart, and not just metaphorically, either, instead of your head or your throat. Your voice is much stronger that way, and you're using it properly when you do so."

Christine nodded meekly. "Yes, sir," she said, taking a deep breath through her nose before preparing to start the exercise again.

"Erik will do, Christine," he corrected her in the most gentle tone he had heard him use the entire time. He didn't give her time to wonder at it, though, as he immediately leapt into the scales and Christine only had a matter of seconds before she had to sing.

After the three hour long lesson, Christine's vocal chords were sore and her voice sounded slightly hoarse. She rubbed her throat lightly and the movement caught Erik's eye.

"Would you like some tea?" he asked, not even bothering to look up from some sheet music he had in his hand. Christine was surprised at the offer. She had thought that Erik wouldn't want her around as soon as the lesson was over.

"Yeah, that would be great, but I'd hate to impose," she said reluctantly, glancing at him to make sure he was sincere.

"Don't be ridiculous. I invited you into my home. I'd be a horrible host if I didn't make sure you were well tended to," he said, placing the sheet music on the piano and standing. He offered her his arm. "If you would follow me into my den, I will get us some tea."

She stared at the arm for a second before realizing what she was supposed to do with it. It was rather old fashioned, but it made her feel special for some reason. She took it, and he led her down the hallway, through the entry room, into a another hallway, and finally into a cozy feeling den. It was crème, like the rest of the house, but it felt more lived in. She guessed he probably spent a good amount of time reading in here.

"Was that a Da Vinci I spotted?" Christine said, sitting as he offered her a seat. Erik actually laughed a little bit.

"So you saw that...Yes, as a matter of fact it is. It's not his most popular one, obviously, but I was rather fond of it," he said, sitting down across from me. So, he had bought a DaVinci on a whim? How much money did this guy have?

"How did you come across it?" she asked, glancing at Bernard as he entered the room.

"I acquired it at an antique art auction. It wasn't terribly expensive, either, as it was uncertain who the artist actually was. I bought it, and had it sent to some professionals, who sent the results back to me as an authentic Da Vinci... How do you like your tea?" he asked.

"Oh, just with two lumps of sugar and a little bit of cream," Christine said with a grateful smile to Bernard. "Do you enjoy art very much, then?"

"Yes, I like go to the museum when I have the time off of work, but that isn't very often. Of course, I could take off whenever I wanted to, but there isn't really much of anything for me to do besides work."

"Have you signed on anyone good recently?" Christine asked, tucking her feet beneath her and looking intently at her new teacher. She hoped he hadn't, because if she could become his protégé, she would have an excellent chance of getting signed on. Erik looked surprised.

"You know who I am, then?" he queried. He didn't seem upset, just curious as to how she knew who he was. Generally, he was a very private person. She knew, because she had tried to Google him several times, but would only get his name, and several entirely blurry photos.

"Yes," she admitted, dipping her head with a blush. "Raoul de Chagny told me who you were." Erik's entire body stiffened even more than it had earlier when she had mentioned Maestro.

"You know Mr. de Chagny, then? Well, of course you would. You were speaking with him last night." He chuckled, though Erik seemed anything but happy.

"I'm sorry, do you have a previous disagreement with Raoul?" Christine asked, quite confused.

"It's nothing you need to concern yourself with, Christine," he assured me, taking his tea from a platter that Bernard had walked in with just moment earlier.

"Thank you," she murmured, taking her tea as well. She wondered how Erik and Raoul knew each other, but decided not to dwell too much on it; she would just ask Raoul on Tuesday when he called.

The conversation flowed naturally from that point on, and Christine found that she and Erik had a lot in common. They both loved music, obviously, and also both of them had aspirations of travelling to Paris. Well, Erik had been there already, but he had only fed Christine's dream of going there with the descriptions of its beauty. They had also both had troublesome childhoods. Christine freely told him of what had happened to her parents, and of her time in foster care, moving from home to home until she was eighteen, although she had a feeling that she didn't need to.

"You have lovely eyes," Christine pointed out at one point. "I've only met one other person who had eyes like yours, almost exactly, now that I think of it."

"Really? And who was that?" Erik said, leaning forward slightly.

"My Maestro," she said bashfully. "I always found his eyes very... alluring," she admitted, turning pink.

"Have you seen him since he left the home?" Erik asked, clearly curious.

"No, I haven't. He promised he'd find me, though. But I honestly don't think he will. I mean, it's been ten years." She forced out a laugh.

"Don't give up. He sounds like the type of man who wouldn't go back on his word," Erik said quietly, setting his empty mug down on the tea tray.

**And so we have chapter two completed. If you liked it, please review! Reviews are like food and energy for my writing body. The more I have, the more I write! Easy as pi(e)! Also, I obviously don't own POTO, or Google. No copyright infringement intended.**


	3. Mish Mosh

**So, here is chapter three! And just so you know, most things in here will be fictional, but some locations may be real, and I will give credit to those at the end of the chapter, should you wish to visit there in person for some reason, haha. Anyway, happy reading!**

"Raoul, really, this is just too much," Christine said with a half-hearted laugh. He had brought her to an exquisite restaurant, with ornate candelabras on the walls, and crystal chandeliers handing from the ceiling. The tablecloths were white with a single white rose, and a white candle for the centerpieces. It was beautiful, yes, but so... monotone. And what would happen if someone spilled red wine? _Can you say 'nightmare?'_ Christine thought grimly.

She felt exceedingly out of place in her red dress, when all the other women in the restaurant were in either white or beige. She also noted that their necklines dropped a little lower than Christine would have ever felt comfortable wearing; she hated the thought of advertising everything she had for everyone and their mother to see.

"Let me show you to your table, sir," a stuffy, nasally sounding waiter addressed Raoul, raising one obviously waxed eyebrow haughtily and walking away, but not before looking at Christine with something similar to disdain. That look only heightened her feeling of misplacement. She would have much rather been out on the streets, in the rain, window shopping and sipping a latte.

She was surprised that Raoul had been able to get a reservation at so fine an establishment so quickly, but upon her mentioning it, he had only laughed and said, "Christine, my parents own it!" She, of course, had been extremely embarrassed and had apologized.

Raoul's parents, she suddenly remembered, had owned at least one fine-dining establishment in every major city in the country. They had often been away, flying to each of the cities to 'check' on their restaurants. Christine hadn't been so naive as to believe them. She knew that they had been on social trips, and were at cocktail parties and 'charity' events, leaving Raoul and his older brother, Philip, to raise themselves. And, for eight months, there was Christine, too.

No one had ever mentioned it, and Christine had had the feeling she shouldn't broach the subject either. She suspected Raoul and Philip held quite a lot of resentment towards their parents for neglecting them like that, but as far as she could see, both men were fine.

"How is your family, Raoul?" Christine asked, setting the white napkin delicately onto her lap.

"Oh, they're all just about the same as when you last saw them, but older." He laughed. "Philip is a pilot for the U.S. air force, and father is as greedy as ever. And mother..." Raoul trailed off. Christine knew that he had never really had a pristine relationship with his mother. In fact, green and stagnant would be more apt in describing it.

"Did she ever acquire the wine she was after while I was with your family?" Christine asked in a polite attempt to pick the conversation back up. The young man chuckled slightly, attempting to thank Christine in a roundabout way.

"Yes, as it just so happens she did. And it's been sitting in our cellar collecting dust ever since." He smiled and pulled out his menu, scanning through it, though Christine thought he probably already knew what he was going to order. As if on cue, he simply placed the menu back down, done with it.

Christine picked up her own menu, and, avoiding eye contact with Raoul, asked, "How do you know Erik Destler, Raoul?" she asked, quite innocently, glancing up from her menu just long enough to show her curiosity, but not enough to show him she knew something she probably shouldn't.

"I don't," Raoul said simply. "I know of him, but I don't know him personally. Why do you ask?" She could feel him staring at her, but she refused to look up as she replied.

"It was just that at the charity function, he seemed to know you, is all," she said casually, mentally selecting a ravioli dish from the menu before placing it down on the table.

"Did he?" Raoul said, apparently not remembering. "I don't recall."

"Yes, he did call you Mr. Chagny in a rather matter-of-fact way," Christine pointed out.

"I'm sorry, Christine, I don't know that he did. I believe he merely called me sir," Raoul corrected her gently, his brow slightly furrowed. "Why do you keep pressing this?" he asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"I don't know... it just seemed like you knew each other, I guess. Do your parents know him?" she asked, glancing up as the waiter walked up to their table, taking their menus and orders.

"Christine," Raoul said with an exasperated laugh, "For the last time, I don't know the man!"

"That wasn't what I asked," she said pointedly, an eyebrow raised with annoyance.

"They don't know him either," Raoul fairly snapped. "I didn't bring you here to talk about.. that man. I came here to catch up and take you out." He smiled at her slightly. "Please, for me, can you drop the subject?"

Christine narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. Something wasn't quite right here. "Fine," she said coldly. "For now."

Raoul looked absolutely relieved at her response. "I'm glad we'll be able to have a good time."

Christine had an awful time. The food was cold and undercooked, and Raoul did most of the talking; she could hardly get a word in edgewise with him chattering so much. She remembered that he had actually listened when they were younger, but she supposed that money and living in high society generally caused people to be very self centered. she and Raoul had both changed, and Christine wasn't sure that she liked what she saw.

She had, however, agreed to see him again, but just at a local coffeehouse. She was so relieved she'd be able to show up in jeans and a sweater. Yes, Christine took pride in the way she looked, and enjoyed looking nice, but Raoul's restaurant was hardly her idea of a perfect first date. It was more like a place someone would propose. Oh, well. At least she'd be able to see Meg tomorrow and talk to her about her current predicament.

She was so happy that she and Meg had become close over the course of the past few weeks. Neither really had any social life due to their interests, and so, when they saw each other it was like the weight of the world was off of their shoulders, because each girl had someone who's situation was similar to her own, and could relate to the problems and could offer advice.

Every time Christine saw Meg, she had a new man on her arm. That wasn't to say that she was a tramp, or unfaithful, she just happened to be a bubbly, likable, gorgeous young woman who was easily approachable. Lots of the young men at Pike's Place gave her their numbers. Christine, on the other hand, was rather shy and demure, and very rare was the occasion when she actually had a date. She supposed that was why she liked Meg so much: they were compete opposites.

Meg had gotten back a few days ago from visiting her mother, so Christine flipped open her phone to call Meg; this simply couldn't wait, she had decided. If she didn't tell someone, she would lose sleep over this. Of course, she didn't exactly know what 'this' was. Was she calling about the strange feeling she had about Erik Destler? Or about Raoul and their dinner-that-was-so-bad-she-wanted-to-die? She wasn't sure, but she needed to say _something._

Christine's tapped her fingers as the phone rang. Meg picked up on the third ring. _Finally._

"Hello?" Meg said on the other line.

"Hey, Meg, it's me," Christine said. "Is this a good time?" she asked, biting her lips slightly.

"Yeah. What's up, Chris?" Meg asked. "You sound nervous or something."

"Well," she began, "I just need to vent... I'm having some issues. Well, maybe not issues, per se, but I'm feeling a little bit overwhelmed, I guess. And I... You've got time, right? Because this might take a while, because I'm just _so_ confused, and there's so many different elements going on in this whole-whatever it is that I just... Ugh."

"Christine?" Meg was practically cracking up on the other end. "Do you have time for coffee? This sounds like something you would rather talk about in person, am I right?"

Christine sighed in relief audibly. "Meg, I don't know how I'd make it without you," she said with a grateful smile. "Meet you at our usual place?"

"You know it! Be there in ten!" They hung up, and Christine grabbed her coffee mug and slipped on an old, green hoodie. To her surprise, her phone rang again.

"Hello?" she answered, not even bothering to look at the caller ID, as she was busy slipping on one of her converse.

"Christine, it's Erik Destler." His voice was slightly distorted, and she got the distinct impression he didn't get the best cell-phone reception at his house. Or maybe her phone was finally going haywire. It was six years old, after all.

"Oh, hi, Erik. Is there something I can do for you?" Christine asked, obviously surprised. She wasn't really prepared for his call, and it showed.

"Did you enjoy your lesson on Sunday?"

"Well, yeah," Christine said, now more confused than anything. "Of course I did. Why?"

"I believe it would be beneficial for your voice if you were to have lessons at least twice a week."

_"At least?" _she blurted. "Erik, I can't! I have work, and then I've got my contract on the weekends for the market, and the other nights of the week I'm either practicing with Meg or recooping from the rest of the week! I'm sorry, I just... I just can't. I would really, really like to, but it's just not possible. And on top of that I'm thinking of going to school to get a Master's degree."

"My apologies, Christine. I didn't realize it would be that much of a... hassle."

"It wouldn't be a _hassle,_ Erik," Christine assured him hurriedly. "I just don't know if I would physically be able to. Singing takes a lot out of me."

"It shouldn't. It should invigorate you. It should make you want to do things that you could only do in your dreams. It should make you want to never stop. If it takes life from you, instead of giving you life, you might want to reconsider what you want to do with yourself."

Christine was dumbstruck. "I... You know... No. I love it. It just has a lot of baggage that comes with it, and so do I. I can't afford it, I wouldn't be able to on top of everything else."

"Quit your job, Christine."

"...What?! Are you nuts?!" Christine was exasperated.

"Just hear me out," Erik said smoothly, and Christine instantly calmed. She opened the front door of her apartment and headed out to meet Meg. She really didn't want to be late, but she couldn't just hang up with Erik, could she?

"All right, I'm listening."

"I would pay for your expenses, rent, everything, for you to come and have lessons with me four times a week, throughout the day. Is this agreeable to you?" Christine was quiet for a long time, and she could see the coffee shop, so she would have to make a decision quickly.

On the surface, this seemed too good to be true. There wasn't anything to lose, was there? No, not really. He job was a piece of crap, and her boss was always hitting on her, but she put up with it because she didn't have anywhere else to go.

"Why are you offering me this?" Christine asked, doing her best to sound skeptical.

"You have potential," he replied simply.

"You're willing to fork out over a grand a month based on 'potential'?" she asked in shock.

"Yes."

"Look, I'll get back to you on that. I'll need to think about it. I can call you around 8:30 or so?"

"Very well. I look forward to your answer."

"Yeah... Goodbye, Erik. I'll talk to you later."

"Farewell."

Christine stuffed her phone in her jean pocket and met Meg with a hug. "Have you ordered already?" Meg nodded with a smile.

"And for you, too. Your usual," she said brightly. Christine smiled gratefully.

"Again, Meg, I don't know what I'd do without you," Christine said, smiling and shaking her head. "You're like the sister I never had, honestly."

"You flatterer!" Meg teased, grabbing their coffees and sitting down at a secluded table. "So, what's up?"

Christine stared down at her coffee for a moment before taking the lid off and pouring the hot, steamy liquid into the mug she had brought.

"I'm having... Men problems," Christine mumbled with sudden embarrassment.

Meg laughed, but quickly stopped upon seeing Christine's serious face. "What sort of men problems?"

"Past-coming-back-to-visit-me men problems," Christine said, sipping her coffee, hoping to find solace within its three-dollar depths. "I saw Raoul again."

"I would think, from the way you talked about him, you'd be happy to see him again. You're not?"

"I am happy to see him he's just... different. He's the same, but he's different. when we were younger, he never used to even care that I was a foster kid, or that he had oodles of money. That stuff didn't matter, you know? But now... He seems like he's flaunting that wealth, but yet he's weary of it at the same time."

"Money changes people, Christine. Besides, it's been what, like ten years since you've seen him? He's bound to have experiences and encounters that have changed him," Meg pointed out knowingly. Christine sighed.

"And then there's Erik."

"There's another one? God, Christine, how many boyfriends do you have?" Meg laughed, taking a sip of her coffee.

"You're one to talk!" Christine replied with a snort. "Besides, he's not a boyfriend. He's a teacher, and the owner of _Mask Records_." Meg almost started choking on her coffee, and she coughed and looked and Christine with astonishment.

"You know Erik Destler? Dear God, Christine! That's- I just! Oh my God!" Meg shook her head and practically slammed a hand down on the table. "He's like- You can't even get a picture of the man, Christine! How did you meet him? This is just unbelievable!" Meg practically squealed, drawing the attention of several fellow cafe-goers.

"Meg," Christine laughed with some amount of embarrassment. "It's not _that_ big of a deal!" she whispered.

"Christine, you're making it sound like you just found five dollars on the street or something! This is Erik Destler we're talking about! You've wanted to be signed on at his record company for _how_ many years, and now he's your _teacher?_"

Christine felt acutely uncomfortable; she noticed that several people were looking at her with curiosity. Much to her chagrin, a young girl, looking to be about seventeen, walked up.

"I'm sorry, but I could help but over hear that you know Erik Destler?" she said shyly. Christine just nodded. "I've always wanted to be a singer, and I was wondering if you could please give him this?" she handed Christine a homemade read-write CD. "My name's Faith, by the way. Thanks so much!" she said, hurrying back to her table of friends.

Christine silently tucked the CD in her purse. "But anyway, Erik reminds me of... Of someone I used to know. Only he's nothing like him. Except his eyes. Blue and grey. The man I used to know was kind and gentle and patient. Erik is mysterious, bitter and world weary." Meg raised an eyebrow.

"Sounds like you might have been in love with first said man, Christine. Are you sure you're not just looking for him in other men? It's rather hard to move on from a first love."

"Meg, I was only, like, fourteen! You can't fall in love when you're fourteen; that's ridiculous!" Christine protested.

"Yeah, but ten years later, with almost no other romantic relationships, no offense, Christine, you might have blown it a bit out of proportion. You let it grow until it blossomed into love. Separation makes the heart grow fonder, you know," Meg giggled. "And besides, do you even know what the odds are that you would actually see him again? Not to crush your hopes or anything, Chris. I'm just trying to be real."

Christine smiled without it reaching her eyes. She missed her Maestro terribly, and she wished he would just write her, damn it. It's not like she didn't have a facebook, or a twitter, or an email address, for God's sake! It wasn't all that hard to _find_ someone nowadays, and yet she had heard nothing. She had searched for him as best she could, searching through some of her old foster brother and sister's social networking profile to see if any of them had found him. Yes, it was a little obsessive, and weird, but he was the only real friend she had until she was out of the system at eighteen.

"Chris, if you squeeze that mug any harder it'll shatter," Meg said, her voice laced with worry. "You all right?"

"I miss him. _So much._ It's insane. I feel so stupid. It was ten years ago, after all." Meg smiled gently at Christine.

"Chris, take my advice. Go out with Raoul again; he'll help you forget... whoever it is you're trying to forget."

"And what about Erik?"

"Are you kidding me? Pounce on this opportunity! I think you'll realize that you were just imagining that he held any similarities, besides his eyes, to... Mystery Man." She giggled.

"You're right. It's just so weird. I was on the phone with him on my way over here, and he told me to quit my job. He said he'd pay for all of the expenses that it covered. He wants to tutor me several times a week."

"That's just incredible! Christine, this is what you've been waiting for!" Meg said enthusiastically.

"I should call him and let him know," she said, standing. "Thanks for the talk, Meg." Meg just nodded and smiled.

"I'm glad this ended when it did; I have a date to get ready for!"

They said their goodbyes and Christine called Erik as soon as she was home.

"This is Erik Destler," she could hear him say on the other line.

"Erik, it's Christine," she said, smiling sheepishly, glad he couldn't see her.

"Ah, Christine," his tone immediately lightened. "I trust you're calling because you have an answer for me."

"Yes," she agreed. "I'll quit my job and come and have lessons with you. But I'm not going to stop performing on the side or at the Market. I couldn't do that to Meg."

"I wouldn't expect you to. I'll expect you at my house tomorrow at 8:30 sharp."

"But what about my two-week notice?" Christine chirped shrilly.

"That's merely a formality," Erik said. "Please do not be late." There was a click on the other end, and then the line was dead.

"Um... okay," Christine muttered and picked up the phone to get a hold of her boss.

**So, we've got lots going on here. And I apologize about all the phone conversations, but I was too lazy to actually have her meet with everyone... So, she's quitting her job to sing with Erik while she's trying to forget him. Erik and Raoul's distaste for each other will be brought up some inthe next chapter, I think, so you've got **_**something**_** to look forward to, at least, haha. Please remember to review, it makes me happy, happy, happy. (if you just got that reference, you're amazing.)**


	4. Blind Rage

**Aw, thank you all so much for the lovely reviews! I so appreciate all the encouraging things said!**

Christine huddled near the fireplace in Erik's music room, still half asleep, with a coffee between her hands.

"Not a morning person, I see," Erik commented, sitting down. "And throw that coffee away, too. The caffeine in it isn't good for your vocal chords... My apologies for getting her late; I had a business call I needed to take."

"But I need my coffee," Christine whined, setting it down. Erik took it and promptly threw it in a well-disguised trash can.

"Hey!"

"I told you to throw it out. From now on you will drink only water and tea," he said sternly. "I won't have you ruining your voice because you wanted something as frivolous as _coffee."_ He snorted. "And not tea that's loaded with caffeine, either."

Christine sighed. "Fine." She covered her mouth with a hand as she yawned tiredly. "What first?"

"Warm-ups, of course," Erik said, as if it were obvious, which, Christine supposed, it was. She adjusted her posture and took a deep breath in through her nose, but Erik turned to face her before she could even sing the first note.

"Before we go any farther, there are several things I need to discuss with you," Erik said. Christine nodded and signaled for him to continue. "First, I need to make sure that you will give this your full attention and all of your devotion, otherwise you are wasting my time and yours. You must drop anything and everything that is not related to your music."

"That's ridiculous," Christine said, shaking her head. She could understand coffee, sure, but everything?

"I see you are under the impression that singing is a glamorous career," Erik said sharply. "But I'm only going to tell you this once: it's not. You must sacrifice everything you have to succeed in this business, let alone be happy. It must become your _life. _If it's not, you'll lack the conviction to continue. It's never going to be easy; you'll constantly be building your voice to new levels, constantly progressing and achieving new things. If you're not, you become stagnant, and people lose interest. You must have something new to show them each time you release an album or perform.

"If you don't, people lose interest. Your music won't speak to them, which should be your ultimate fear. If your music, if _you_ can't reach people, then you've failed as a musician and a singer."

Christine felt like she needed to sit down. That was a lot he was expecting of her. Was she really capable of dropping everything to pursue this? Well, shoot, if Erik was putting this much effort into her training, she must practically have a contract with the company already. She pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head in thought.

"Then get out," Erik demanded coldly.

Christine looked up at him. "W-What?"

"I believe you heard me," Erik said, turning to face his piano.

"I'm sorry, did I do something wrong?" she asked fearfully.

"I believe I asked you to leave," Erik said, turning to face her slowly, his white mask gleaming in the firelight. "It would be in your best interests to do so."

Christine shook her head again. "No, it wouldn't be," she said quietly.

"Pardon?" Erik said, his tone short and harsh.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this, Erik. I came to Seattle _specifically_ to be signed on with _your_ record company. I've admired you since you first came about. You saw true talent, honed it, and turned it into something truly beautiful and memorable. The only thing I could think was 'I want that.' I've waited so long for this opportunity, and I'm not going to toss it away now."

Erik didn't answer for a long time, as if he was mulling something over. "Christine, would you do something for me?"

"Yeah, of course," she said, nodding. "Anything."

"Just a small favor, really," Erik assured her. "Would you go into the room down the hall? There's something in there I need you to see."

Christine nodded silently again, turned on her heel and went to the room instructed.

She left immediately after doing Erik that 'favor.' How could he _ever_ do such a thing to her? She was so angry at him! She wanted to scream and punch something- something that wasn't a pillow. Christine hadn't even bothered to say goodbye, she saw what he had wanted her to see, and left without another word.

She walked all the way home in the rain, too, and now she was sick. Meg had already come over and brought some soup, and Raoul was on his way. Sweet man he was, he had offered to have Christine stay at his home so she would have someone to care for her and tend to her needs.

It had been two days since Christine had seen Erik and she had no intentions of going back there for quite some time, either. He just had her so furious. To pull something like that on her was a total disregard from her feelings. She knew she would have to go back, though, because he'd been calling her, and he was still paying all of her expenses. This was getting far too complicated for her liking.

She heard a knock at her door.

"Come in," she said from underneath her mounds of blankets that were mashed onto her tiny couch.

Raoul peeked his head in. "Hello, Lottie," he greeted her kindly. "Feeling any better?"

"Not really," she admitted with a groan. "I've got a lot to think about." Raoul sat down beside her, taking her hand lightly.

"You're sick, you really shouldn't be thinking about anything except for what old TV show you're going to watch next," he said with a chuckle. She smiled and started to laugh, but she was caught in a coughing spell, and Raoul jumped back playfully.

"Back, foul beast!" he said with a laugh, and Christine smiled tiredly at him once she was through coughing.

"Oh, Raoul, you have no idea how much it means to me that you came here," she said with a sniffle, reaching for a tissue. "Especially since you might get sick."

"Oh," Raoul waved it away with a silly grin. "You really think I would've come here if I could get sick? If it were that simple, people would have learned long ago to just kill the guy who had the sniffles!" Christine laughed, and this time she wasn't assaulted by coughing spasms.

"You're gonna be the death of me!" Christine said with a chuckle, reaching for another tissue. "I'm surprised you were able to come in the middle of the day like this," she said. "I would think you have important business matters to attend to or something... What do you do for a living, anyway, Raoul?"

"Me? Oh, not much," Raoul said shrugging it off.

"Oh, come on, Raoul. It's a job; it's not like you're a secret agent or anything." She laughed.

"No, you're right. I'm certainly not that. In fact, almost the opposite in the mysterious factor. I'm an underwear model."

Christine burst out laughing; she couldn't help herself. Raoul was a male model? That was absurd! Never, in her whole life, had she expected him to have _that_ career. He had always talked of being a veterinarian. She remembered how he had saved a little swallow with a broken wing, nursed it back to health until, finally, it flew away, happy to be free. Christine had hoped that it would stay, like they always did in the movies. But life wasn't a movie, was it? No, it certainly wasn't. Bad things happened, and they didn't always work out they way they were supposed to.

"I'm glad you find it so amusing," Raoul said huffily, crossing his arms. "But anyway, Lottie, I've got to go; there's a shoot later, and I have to go shave." He winked, grabbed his coat and headed for the door. "But I'll stop by later."

He swung the door open, only to stagger backwards at Erik's imposing figure. Raoul was very stiff and pale, and looked like he was about to break out in a cold sweat.

"I should have known you'd be here," Erik sneered, striding inside and slipping off his trench coat and hat, but seeing nowhere to hang them, set them on the end of the couch upon which Christine was laying.

Needless to say that Christine was more than a little shocked. "Erik, what are you-?"

"You haven't returned my calls or emails, and I grew worried that something had happened to you," he said calmly. "What is _he_ doing here?" Erik turned to Raoul, who, up until that point, had regained most of his composure.

"Well," Christine snapped, drawing Erik's attention back to her, "after what happened at _your_ house, I walked _all the way home._ And I got sick, so I've been in bed the past two days trying to feel better. Excuse me for not calling you, as I'm still totally pissed off, and not feeling well." She shook her head. "How could you do that to me?"

"Christine, you have to believe me. I never meant-"

"Save it. And then you haev the _audacity_ to come in here and accuse Raoul of doing something wrong, when all he's ever done is look after and comfrot me!"

"I did that, too! Far better than he ever will!" Erik blared, pointing a long, pale finger at Raoul. "I offered you a place in society, if you would only make it your priority! You couldn't give me even that!" Erik looked as if he were on the verge of a break down, and Christine felt something close to pity for him. What had happened to him to make him so bitter?

"Mr. Destler, can't you see that Christine clearly doesn't want you hear?" Raoul piped up, in all of his male-model glory.

"And _you!_" Erik turned on Raoul. "How dare you ever even _speak_ to her! After what your family did! I could strangle you!" Erik strode over to Raoul then, fingers twitching murderously. In a flash, the taller man's hands were around Raoul's throat, backing him up against the wall.

"Erik!" Christine shrieked, scrambling off of the couch, nearly falling over all of her blankets. "Let him go! _Let him go!"_ she begged, pulling on his arm, practically sobbing. But Erik seemed to have gone into a blind rage.

"You destroyed me, practically destroyed my company, I should kill you!" he growled, applying more pressure to Raoul's throat.

"Erik, stop it! You'll kill him!" Christine pleaded again.

"Precisely," Erik said coldly. "Him and all of his family deserve to rot in the deepest depths of hell!"

Raoul gagged, and his face was turning purple. He clutched frantically at Erik's arms and hands, but to no avail. Christine thought he would probably pass out soon if she didn't do something.

"Maestro, please I'm begging you to let him go!" Christine said, squishing herself between Erik and Raoul and placing her hands on Erik's chest firmly. "Please, I'm begging you, Maestro. Don't hurt him."

Erik backed up then, breathing heavily and hands trembling.

"Erik, we need to talk," Christine murmured.

"Don't worry Christine, I'll make sure he never comes near you again," Raoul gasped, stumbling out the door. "He's dangerous."

"Raoul, no!" Christine cried, attempting to follow him out, but Erik grabbed her by the arm, and she turned to face him, bewildered.

"Let him go," Erik said stoically, looking at her. "Thank you for stopping me," he said in an undertone, and Christine didn't know how to respond, so she ignored it.

"Maestro, please tell me what happened," she said in a whisper before having to sit down because she was dizzy and lightheaded. Erik helped her back onto the couch, carefully tucking the blankets in around her. She instantly felt safe.

"Perhaps when you're feeling better," Erik said softly, completely transformed from the monster he had been moments ago. "Can I make you some tea?"

Christine simply nodded, and Erik stood and rummaged around in her kitchen, and before long, the water was boiling and Erik was coming back out with a steaming hot cup of tea. He didn't' say anything, and neither did she, so they both sat in silence for a very long time.

"This is a nice place you have here," he said finally.

"Ugh, it's a mess," Christine said, shaking her head. "But thank you... I can't believe you kept it, after all this time."

"How could I not keep it?" Erik asked quietly. "It was the only heartfelt gift I had ever received."

"Surely you must have received gifts from others," Christine prompted.

"There weren't any others, Christine. My parents, as you well known, were greedy and unclean, to say the least. And the other foster children were too young to know any different. You remember having to take care of them, don't you?" Christine nodded. "Seeing as I graduated highschool when I was fourteen, that didn't exactly give me much time to build relationships with my peers. And after my second year of college, well, you know that my parents made me leave the day I turned eighteen... So no, you were the only one."

"Erik...," Christine didn't know what to say. He smiled gently.

"You don't have to feel like you need to say anything, Christine. You are sick, and I can't expect your mind to be working at the same capacity as if it were healthy. Now, I should probably go; I've already lingered here too long, and I don't want Mr. Changy coming back with the police. I'll come by again tomorrow to see how you're feeling."

Christine smiled, setting down her tea. "All right, Erik, that sounds fine."

"Feel better, Christine."


	5. The Truth, and Nothing But

**Oh my goodness, I cannot tell you all how incredibly mortified I am that it's been so long since I've updated! Life stuff just sort of... happened. **_**So**_** sorry. But here's an extra, extra dramatic chapter to make up for it!**

Raoul stopped by again a few hours after Erik had left. He was alone, and Christine wasn't sure whether or not to be relieved. She was smart enough to guess that whatever Raoul's family had done to Erik was bad enough to not want them to be investigated. But Christine decided then and there that whatever Raoul's _family_ had done, so long as he wasn't involved in it, she wouldn't blame him. It was evident that Erik could, though.

"Raoul, why isn't there an officer with you?" Christine asked, flipping the TV to 'mute,' so she wouldn't be distracted. This was starting to feel a little... eerie to her.

"Christine... Destler is not the sort of man to drag into court. He always manages to wriggle his way out without ever seeing the inside of a cell," Raoul said slowly, as if having to carefully choosing his words. Christine could tell that he wanted to protect his family, but would that mean he would lie to her to do so? His relationship was far from admirable with his parents, and she wasn't sure if he had maintained his close relationship with his brother, Phillip.

"So you've tried to bring him to court before?" Christine asked, eyes narrowed to slits. She didn't like the sound of that. At all.

"Yes. My family brought him to court a long time ago. We held evidence that suggested that he was the guilty one, not us, but somehow, he managed to convince the court to drop the case. It's been stagnant for years now." Raoul sounded frustrated at the fact, and Christine could only wonder what had happened.

"And what was that, exactly?" Christine pressed, adjusting the blankets around her, wanting to get to the heart of the matter. She didn't like the sound of any of this.

"I honestly don't know, Lottie," Raoul said, looking at her for a moment intently, as if trying to convey the truth. "I was in Europe at an on-site job, and my parents were very vague about what happened. I know only a little more than you do."

"And Phillip?" Christine said. "What does he know?" She felt herself getting angry. If she was going to be in the middle of this feud, then damn it she wanted to know what happened.

"If he knows more than I do, he's not saying anything," Raoul said with a shrug. "He's fiercely loyal to Mother."

"Mmh." Christine said, taking a sip of her tea. Raoul went to take her hand, but she drew back, not really wanting to touch him at the moment. "Christine, you must believe that I had nothing to do with whatever happened with Destler. I'm not the villain here."

She studied his face for a few moments, trying to see if he was really telling the truth. She wasn't sure whether or not he had actually played a part in whatever was going on. She was more than a little suspicious of the fact that the rest of his family knew what had happened but he didn't, merely because he had been away.

Raoul reached for her hand again and squeezed it, hoping to reassure her. He was pleading to her with his eyes, clearly afraid of losing her again.

"I believe you," she murmured, giving him the ghost of a smile. Raoul kissed her hand and smiled up at her before leaning in and kissing her lips lightly. Christine couldn't bring herself to react to his advance; she was just too preoccupied with everything that had happened. When Raoul pulled away, looking rather dejected, she offered him a small smile in apology.

"You're really very sweet, Raoul, but I'm just... tired and sick and a tad overwhelmed," she whispered. "I think I need a nap."

"I'll leave you to it, then," Raoul said softly, rising from the couch that he had moved himself to earlier. "I'm so, so sorry that you got caught up in this," he said just before shutting the door behind himself, leaving Christine to ponder his words.

It took Christine another three days to recover enough to go to Erik's house. And even then, she doubted her vocal-folds would be well enough to sing as Erik expected her to. But she went anyway. She needed to make sure he was still there-she didn't want to lose him after only just finding him again.

Murmuring a thank you to her cab driver, Christine walked up the path to the mansion and rang the doorbell. It played a complex melody that Christine assumed was an original composition of Erik's.

"Miss Daae," Bernard said, opening the door. "Mr. Destler was not expecting you, to my knowledge." He didn't seem displeased by her appearance, though. On the contrary, he seemed almost relieved that she was there.

"No, he's not. I just thought I'd stop by if Erik isn't too busy," Christine said, feeling rather sheepish at her unexpected appearance. She adjusted her purse awkwardly, feeling that perhaps she shouldn't have come.

"Bernard, would you please shut that blasted door? I told you I'm not taking any visitors- Oh, Christine," Erik said, peering at her from behind his butler. "Come in." Bernard opened the door more widely and stepped aside so Christine could come in without hindrance. Bernard took her jacket, and she thanked him quietly before addressing Erik.

"I hope it's all right that I came without calling. I really should have called," she said, biting her lower lip lightly.

"Don't worry about it," Erik assured her. "What brings you here, anyway?" he asked, leading her into his den. "I was just about to have some tea. Would you like some?"

"Tea would be great, thanks," Christine murmured, sitting across from Erik on an extremely comfortable loveseat. "...I just wanted to make sure you were still here," she admitted, glancing at him briefly before dropping her gaze down to her feet.

"Why on earth wouldn't I be?" Erik asked, slightly bewildered. He had one eyebrow raised and looked at her expectantly. Christine didn't really want to continue, as she was still somewhat shy in Erik's presence. He was no longer the welcoming young man he had been ten years ago. Erik had become imposing, and his very presence in the room demanded respect and carried a weight about it that suggested he had a high level of intelligence and was to be given the authority he deserved.

"With what happened a few days ago, I thought that maybe you would leave again," Christine confessed, looking up at him. While she was relieved to still find him here, she wasn't sure why. From what Raoul had told her he didn't really have much of a case...

"Leaving hadn't even crossed my mind, Christine," Erik said, cutting into her thoughts. "After what those bastard Chagny's did to me in the past, they wouldn't have much of a case if they decided to bring me to court, at any rate." Christine's brow furrowed with confusion.

"Raoul said that they did take you to court but you wriggled out of it because you were too cunning. He said that his family had tried before," Christine said, looking at him. She felt entirely confused, and wasn't sure what, or who to believe. Both of these men had treated her very well when she was younger, but time had changed them, and not for the better, either.

"He told you that _they _took _me_ to court? No, no, no. It was I who took them," Erik said, leaning forward in his seat. "When did Chagny come and see you again, Christine?" Christine desperately wanted to find what exactly happened, but neither Raoul nor Erik seemed willing to go into depth about the subject. Raoul, at least, seemed to have an excuse.

"He came to see me a few hours after you left," she said, shrugging slightly, not really thinking much of it. Bernard came in then, and she took her tea from him with a thankful smile.

"That whole family is dangerous, Christine. I would advise you to stay away from them, even if it-" Erik stopped talking, as his guest's phone started ringing.

"Sorry," Christine apologized, and went to silence her phone, but she couldn't hide the dismay on her face when she read her caller ID. "It's him," she murmured. "I'm sorry, I should really take this."

She flipped open her phone and hit the speaker-phone button, so Erik could hear and she wouldn't have to explain the whole conversation to him. "Hello?" Christine said, glancing at Erik, who had a dark scowl on his face.

"Christine, it's Raoul." His voice crackled slightly from the static of the phone. "Where are you?" he asked, and he seemed slightly concerned.

"Um, I'm out right now, Raoul. Why?" Christine furrowed her brow, and looked at Erik, whose eyes were narrowed at the phone, as if it were to blame for something.

"Because I dropped by your place, actually I'm here now, and I wanted to talk with you," he said, sounding a little flustered. "Where are you, maybe we could meet up?" Christine paused, not really sure how to avoid answering his question. She was just about to answer when Erik spoke up.

"She's busy at the moment. Perhaps you might call at a more convenient time, Mr. Chagny," Erik said coolly, a smirk dancing across his face. Christine made an exasperated face at him, but he only smiled. Raoul seemed to be stunned into silence, but then, all at once he burst forth.

"Christine, what the hell are you doing with him, especially after he nearly killed me! Honestly, woman, he could murder you! I'm coming to get you, where are you at?"

"She's at my estate," Erik seemed to be practically glowing with triumph at exacting such a reaction from Raoul. "If you want her, come and get her, boy."

"Hold it!" Christine interjected, immediately silencing what either man was about to say. "I am _not_ a piece of property, and I'll damn well spend my time with whoever I please. Now somebody, and I don't care who, had better tell me how this all started so I can understand why you two hate each other so much."

"Well you can't trust him," both gentleman said at once and then proceeded to start yelling at each other over the phone. Christine hung up, and Erik kept going for a full thirty seconds before he realized that the conversation had ended. Christine raised an eyebrow at her teacher with an expression that clearly said, 'are you done now?'

"Sorry," Erik mumbled, and his one visible cheek was slightly pink.

"I should probably go. I've got a lot of thinking to do," she said, standing. "Thank you for the tea, Erik."

"Christine, wait. Let me tell you what happened," Erik said, gently pulling her down next to him. "You won't find anything out from Chagny, not the truth, anyway. If you don't mind sitting for a while, I'll tell you."

"Go ahead."

"I was twenty when I first met Phillip at a business class here in Seattle. I had just started 'Mask Records' and he was there representing his parents. I didn't have my deformity at the time, and was still fairly sociable. People within the music industry are coarse, something I learned early, so I wasn't as gentle-spirited as I was when you knew me. But Phillip and I became friends for a time. Having just started my own business, it wasn't enough for me to live the way I wanted to, and Phillip, recognizing my potential, offered me a job working for his parents' restaurants. It was my job to keep track of the finances of the restaurants in the northwest.

"Within two years, though, my own business began to take off, and I had to quit my job working for the Chagny's. Their restaurants quickly lost financial value, and began to close. Phillip called me, albeit reluctantly, and asked me to come back. I politely declined, to which Phillip responded that he respected that.

"Things began to get ugly from there. The Chagny's hired musicians and singers, extremely talented ones, to sign contracts with my company, and then proceed to botch their voices, giving my company a bad reputation for bad talent. I was persistent, though, and soon found their method and built my company back up. They then proceeded to attack me personally.

"It was about four years ago that they hired someone to mug me. Their employee slammed my face against the concrete several times until I was unconscious. I woke in the hospital, and the right side of my face was completely covered with bandages. I was told that while I was unconscious my attacker and very nearly scalped my face, peeling off several layers of skin, and then poured a mild bleach over the wounds. They had done all that they could to restore my face to as much normalcy as possible, but the damage wasn't fully reparable. I have not been on friendly terms with that family for eight years."

Christine sat in silence for a while, mulling over everything. "And you took them to court."

"Yes," Erik said, nodding and looking at her for any signs of a bad reaction. "But apparently the evidence was insufficient and my case was buried."

"...Wow. I am so, so sorry Erik. Truly," Christine said, taking his hand. She felt a strong hatred toward Raoul's parents, but she was relieved to find that neither Phillip or Raoul seemed to be directly involved. Especially Raoul.

"There is nothing you could have done, Christine. Don't apologize." He squeezed her hand slightly and stood. The room was silent for a while and then Erik spoke again. "You should take it back, you know." It took Christine a moment to realize what he was talking about, but when she did, she only smiled.

"It was a gift, Erik. You should keep it," she said, coming to stand next to him.

"But it's also the only reminder you have of your parents. Come, take it." He took her hand and led her into the room that lay just down the hall from his music room. It was empty, save for a small pedestal that held a rose gold cross necklace. Christine had originally been angry and devastated when she saw the necklace, because it meant that Erik had kept his identity from her. But now she was only mildly sad when she saw it, because it reminded her of the parents she never knew.

Erik stepped over to the stand and took the necklace from it and came to stand behind Christine, letting the cross drape lightly over her delicate collar bone and hooking it. She turned around to face him and gave him a small smile.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "For keeping it."

"I couldn't not keep it, Christine," Erik said, taking her hand. "It was the only gesture of kindness I knew for a long while. And now it's back with the person it belongs with. But I would ask... one thing."

"Anything at all," Christine said, smiling up at him. "Ask and you shall receive. Especially after what you've just given me."

"Would you kiss me?" Erik asked timidly. Christine paused at the question, and didn't give him an answer. She merely stood on her tip-toes and pressed her lips against his, and that was answer enough for Erik.

** Okay, so maybe that wasn't extra, extra dramatic, but I'm trying to get back in the swing of things, here. Please review, if it tickles your fancy!**


	6. Story on Hiatus Apologies

Unfortunately, dear reader, this story will be on hiatus for a time. I'm experiencing some severe writers block, and I'm just simply not feeling this story at the moment. I will, however, be continuing 'Time Spent With You,' so don't fear for that. This story will be back, I swear! But probably not for a while.

Although, if it strikes your fancy, you can PM me and we can talk about YOU writing this story, as I'm not opposed to that.

Again, I'm sorry for this, but I'm busy, have severe writer's block, and am working on an original work (to be up soon on fictionpress!)

Hope this doesn't make you too upset.

Cheers,

Availre


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